


Debellatio

by Cataclyzmic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Apparently that's a thing, F/M, Political AU, Political AU - Freeform, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Silence Kink, Vaginal Fingering, and here we are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 01:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15653181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cataclyzmic/pseuds/Cataclyzmic
Summary: Rey may or may not have whimpered when the cool air hit her sweating skin in soothing waves. The squeaking fan above the bed thrummed on at a tortuously slow pace (they didn’t always get the luxury of air conditioning when she paid for the hotel room). Her heartbeat was hammering at an uncomfortable rate, and the muscles of her upper thighs twitched involuntarily: the sensation radiated towards her sex in a not unpleasant way.He had rolled off and his labored breathing mingled with hers in an erratic chorus as he remained dutifully to himself on the bed next to her. She didn’t need to look over at his profile - sharp features with unruly black hair that she suspected he grew out to covered his protruding ears - to know he was staring glazedly at the ceiling, mirroring her own supine position. He was a respectable arms-length away from her now (even though what they’d just done could be called anything other than respectable) keeping whatever thoughts he had to himself. This was part of The Rules they’d silently agreed to since day one: Absolutely, under no circumstances, by pain of death, were they to ever allowed to speak.





	1. Inside the Beltway

**Author's Note:**

> I sat on this for about 3 months while I finished up nursing school, and decided it wasn't terrible. So here you are, my personal contribution to the fandom: my un-betaed and all naturale trash. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Please see end notes for more information.

Rey may or may not have whimpered when the cool air hit her sweating skin in soothing waves. The squeaking fan above the bed thrummed on at a tortuously slow pace (they didn’t always get the luxury of air conditioning when she paid for the hotel room). Her heartbeat was hammering at an uncomfortable rate, and the muscles of her upper thighs twitched involuntarily: the sensation radiated towards her sex in a not unpleasant way.

 

He had rolled off and his labored breathing mingled with hers in an erratic chorus as he remained dutifully to himself on the bed next to her. She didn’t need to look over at his profile - sharp features with unruly black hair that she suspected he grew out to covered his protruding ears - to know he was staring with glazed eyes at the ceiling, mirroring her own supine position. He was a respectable arms-length away from her now (even though what they’d just done could be called anything other than _respectable_ ) keeping whatever thoughts he had to himself. This was part of The Rules they’d silently agreed to since day one: Absolutely, under no circumstances, by pain of death, were they to ever allowed to _speak_.

  
**\---**

  
**6 months earlier:**

 

They could have spoken in different languages, for all Rey knew. The two of them had never actually said a word to one another, even in the weeks leading up to the first time they slept together. She could only assume he knew English given they lived in the capital of America. In a city full of the country’s most trusted secrets shared among the country’s most untrusted people, keeping your mouth shut was a skill and a strength to any campaign. Instead, when they were together, they spoke to each other in words whispered over bitten lips, and in phrases passed between them through snippets of prolonged stares.

 

Although, she was gifted a hint to the chasms of his baritone voice one day when one of the new baristas got his order wrong. Although, Rey couldn’t say for sure that was the reason, because he and the worker had the tiff at the register while she perched at her usual morning table tucked in the back corner of the cafe. The two at the counter argued in harsh whispers (a certain Charlie Brown character came to mind), as if raising their voices in a public shop would wake the still-sleeping city. The serenity of the coffee shop was the main reason she loved spending her mornings at Commonwealth Coffee: Their exceptionally early hours and deliciously brewed drinks gave her a safe haven before she tackled every day.

 

She imagined it was the same for him. Why else would he be up at such an ungodly hour? Though he never seemed to be happy about it. The permanent frown etched on his face seemed to grow more pronounced as he walked into the shop and when he ordered his coffee (black, two sugars - the baristas had little more to do than run the cup under the morning’s brew). It would finally settle into a scowl when he sat three tables down from her. One could even argue it was endearing, how much disdain one person could put into a morning routine, something she could only assume was done by his own volition.

 

She liked to play the game “How Does Mystery Man Get So Filthy Rich?” on mornings when she allowed herself a moment to indulge. He wasn’t a construction worker: he was dressed too well (and expensively) for that. She rattled her brain to think if she’d seen him on any news stations, but even if she could have recognized him from the tens of news anchors in the city, she didn’t think he had the personality to muster playing nice on camera, even for money. He seemed to have the arrogance to be a physician, but his regular presence in the coffee shop didn’t seem to be consistent with the schedule of a doctor. And so he remained, to her, an enigma.

 

She wasn’t an enigma to him. Well, more in the sense that he was aware of her presence, she was sure. You don’t sit across an empty room from someone for close to a month without being cued into their existence. Though some days she wasn’t sure he was aware of anything outside of the very large personal bubble he maintained. His work would spread across the small table in front of him, every inch of it covered in dossiers, loose papers, or the occasional iPad as he scanned over them. On those days, he blew in and out of the shop like a tornado, unconscious of the tension he left in his wake. Those were not Rey’s favorite days. More often than not, she'd leave feeling snappy and irritable.

 

Most days, he was pleasant - in the only way he seemed to know. His presence is was a constant thunderstorm, brooding and never pulling the corners of his mouth above his teeth. But he would make eye-contact, nod his head at her in acknowledgement, and she would offer a small smile in return. It was a companionable silence they shared those mornings, and the work days were easier to tackle.

 

His routine happened the same way every morning: like clockwork. In fact, after seeing him go through this regimen in the past weeks, she was sure she could have ordered his coffee for him when she got there, just so she could save him the trouble of having to interact with people.

 

So she did.

 

The confused look on his face when the cashier (“It’s just Rose” she had clarified earlier that morning after Rey failed multiple times to pronounce her given name) soundlessly pointed in Rey’s direction that first morning (did the baristas know about The Rules too?) was worth it in itself. He looked less put-together that day, donning an olive green parka and dark reading glasses that were dwarfed where they perched on his large nose. Maybe he’d slept in that morning. Maybe he’d had a late night.

 

Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his parka, he regarded her for what seemed like ages. She gave a small, reassuring smile. Finally, he trudged over to his usual spot where the coffee sat, waiting. Pursed-lipped, he raised his cup to her in a silent thank you and she to him before he practically shoved his nose into his binder until she left for work.

 

**\---**

 

The next morning, she did it again. Because it was Friday and therefore nearly the weekend (not that weekends really existed in her line of work). Maybe her Mystery Man needed a little boost to get him through the day before he was done with his work week.

 

That’s what she told herself.

 

This time, when he entered the cafe, he looked over where his coffee sat without so much as walking towards the workers smiling falsely behind the counter. Was he a mind-reader? Or was she that predictable?

 

He had put significantly more work into his attire this morning, dressed smoothly in a pin-striped, pigeon-grey Burberry suit that seemed tailor-made to his physique, and it probably was. The jet-black overcoat he’d taken off when he walked in was slung over his forearm, and a worn leather messenger bag was thrown casually over his shoulder. A burgundy scarf was wrapped in a Parisian knot around his neck, and his hair was quaffed in a way that softened the edges of his features (she had a fleeting moment of disappointment when he didn’t have his reading glasses on this time).

 

His eyes shifted between her and the coffee several times and his lips pursed as though she had just confirmed something very disappointing for him. The look only lasted for a moment before he straightened and walked confidently towards the cup of coffee. Sitting down, he sat back against the chair and adjacent wall as though it were the most comfortable thing in the world. He crossed his one leg over the other, nonchalantly tucking the back of the chair into his armpit and rested his wrist lightly over the sloping edge. With glacial speed, he plucked each glove finger from his hands before pulling them off entirely. His hand slowly wrapped around the curvature of the cup and brought it towards his mouth. All the while, he maintained eye contact with her. In his eyes was a knowing look, one she’d seen late at night in hotel bars and the occasional drunken Christmas party. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat before losing her nerve and looking away, busying herself with the dossiers in front of her.

 

She never regained her nerve.

 

He left before she did that morning, going out of his way to walk past her as he did so. She lingered on thoughts of _why_ before they stuttered in their tracks as his cologne hit her nostrils, arresting her train of thought. Her mouth watered and she took a quick sip of her coffee, swallowing it swiftly to cover the soft groan threatening to spill from her lips. Heavens, that was not going to do well for her to get through the weekend unscathed.

 

Later that day, a Senate bill on gerrymandering legislation had finally come through and she hit the ground running, Mystery Man soon forgotten.

 

\---

 

When she walked into the shop on Monday morning, she could count on one hand the number of hours she’d slept that weekend. The only thing keeping her from looking like death was a pound of the most modestly-priced makeup she could afford, and the soon-to-be steaming cup of coffee she had been looking forward to all weekend. So when the cashier wouldn’t take her money, it took Rey longer than normal to understand what he was trying to tell her.

 

“ _He_ already paid for it,” the cashier said, an edge in his voice made her think maybe he’d already told her this several times while her brain failed to process the information. He nodded emphatically over her shoulder and she followed his gaze to the gentleman sitting three tables down from her usual corner spot: her Mystery Man. His eyes glanced up to hers with a heated stare that sent much-needed shot of adrenaline through her system. The starting of a smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth as he tilted his head to his right: her coffee sat steaming on her table.

 

Rey muttered a thank you to the barista (“Gil”, his name tag said) and confidently moved over to her corner - or, at least, she hoped it looked confident. It was hard to do when she wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands and her legs had the coordination of a newborn foal.

 

All bravado was lost the instant the aroma of the coffee hit her nose, though, and she practically ran the last few steps to grab at the drink greedily. She almost didn’t make it into the chair before she took a lung-filled whiff and moaned unabashedly on the exhale. She closed her eyes and let the feeling wash over her entire body: The world was good once again.

 

When she opened her eyes, Mystery Man was still staring at her. Rey was not naive to this kind of look, but it surpassed any kind of interaction either of them had shared thus far, and suddenly her breath caught in her throat. His jaw worked fiercely and the fingers of his left hand gripped the table in a ghostly fashion. After a beat, he looked away and started to chew on the end of his pen with more force than she thought was appropriate, given that she suspected it was a very _expensive_ pen.

 

A whiff of coffee hit her nostrils again, and she surrendered herself to its wily powers as it pulled her from the drudges of death.

 

\---

 

Some time later, as she looked over her e-mail and nursed the last dregs of coffee from her cup, he stood from his chair. She was usually the first one of the two of them to leave in the mornings, but occasionally he would receive a text and then be dashing out the door towards God-knows-where. Instead, he made his way towards her table.

 

Rey’s now-empty cup of coffee had worked itself halfway to its destination on the table before she froze. His eyes caught hers in a heated stare as he neared. Her heart rate quickened and her breath failed to make its way out of her throat. But instead of stopping, he continued to past her to the toilets behind her, not breaking eye contact. Curious, she followed his retreating form until he reached his destination. He looked at her pointedly for longer than was socially acceptable, before pushing the door into the restroom.

 

The air had left Rey’s chest and she stared blankly at the space he’d left in his wake. That wasn’t a very subtle (was it subtle?) proposition. He made it explicitly clear (did he?) what he was asking. Or perhaps her sleep-deprived, caffeine-intoxicated mind was filling in the fantasy lines, stitching her into full delirium. It was possible he was just using the facilities for what they were, and her walking in on him would be the cherry on top of the shit-cake of her weekend.

 

Indecision paralyzed her.

 

Ultimately, she decided to wait. He wouldn’t be in there long if she was imagining things. If she wasn’t… well.

 

She busied herself by pretending to look at the paper in front of her. The minutes ticked by… and by, and there was no Mystery Man emerging from his self-imposed prison.

 

Shaky hands closed the paper in front of her. She took a moment to closer her eyes and reprimand herself for being stupid in entertaining this idea. It wasn’t long before her baser instincts swatted them away with an impatient huff and filled her mind with more delicious thoughts. With a resolute sigh, she pushed herself up from the chair.

 

When she walked into the bathroom, she’d expected him to pounce. That’s what this was, after all: a quickie in the bathroom to satiate whatever bizarre tension had built between these two. But instead, he leaned against the far side of the single-stall room, legs crossed at the ankle and palms pressed against the wall behind his lower back. He was staring at a tile on the floor, eyes unfocused and unmoving. The door clicked behind her and the noise must have shook him from his reverie, because his head snapped up to hers. He slowly walked the short distance to her, as though he was still making his decision, before placing palms on either side of her head. He was doing that staring thing again. She watched his eyes flicker between her two hazel ones, searching. For what, she couldn’t be sure, but she gave him the only answer she knew.

 

With little finesse, Rey grasped his lapels with her fists and brought his mouth to hers in a misplaced kiss. If you could even call it a kiss, that is. She probably got more of his cheek than his lips at the first pass, but he quickly cupped her cheeks and brought their mouths together properly. His lips almost completely enveloped her own and she sighed into his mouth in appreciation of the feeling. He licked the seam of her mouth and she wantonly opened up to him - he quickly took advantage, lapping into the hollow of her cheeks. Rey’s arms snaked up around his neck as his hands slipped down the front up her shirt - pausing briefly over the round of her breasts - until they settled at her waist. He pulled away from the kiss with a slick pop and trailed wetly from her cheek to her jaw.

 

He gripped her hair, pulling gently to cock her head to the side, completely exposing her neck. His lips attached themselves to her in a way that could hardly be called gentle. Open-mouthed, sloppy kisses were applied to her skin, followed closely behind by rough nips to the column of her throat. He lapped at every nip as if the blood rushing to her skin would make her taste differently.

 

One nibble on the sensitive skin behind her ear sent her hips colliding with his in an act Rey couldn’t take conscious ownership of. He quickly swept his hands to her lower back and shoulders to keep her firmly tucked into him as he licked a long stripe up her carotid. She bucked up into him again and he bucked back, slamming their bodies into the door behind them.

 

Rey didn’t doubt that the door was made of something other than wood, but the groan it made on impact of their bodies pulled them out of their fever for a moment. They looked at one another, breathing heavily, half-expecting one of the baristas to kick them out of the shop for indecent exposure, but nothing came. So Rey pushed him back through the room until his back hit the other side of the wall and she practically climbed up him to claim his lips again. He didn’t hesitate to grasp her ass and hoist her up his body with more ease than she thought possible. The fabric of her suit pants protested, threatening to bust at the seams.

 

Her thighs gripped him tighter.

 

Before she knew it, her back was pressed against the wall and the cool tiles felt good against her burning body, despite her layers of clothing. His lips leached at her mouth while she squirmed in his arms, unable to keep herself from seeking out some kind of release against whatever part of his body would do the job. He arranged her body _like so_ , and with a hard roll from his hips, they’d found the friction. His erection slid deliciously along her clothed sex, the pressure just right as it moved up to the apex of her thighs. He disengaged from her lips as she gulped in much-needed air into her lungs. While she restored oxygen into her system, he had his eyes fixed on the place where their two bodies met, undulated hips pressing impossibly close together.

 

This man, whoever he was, gently pressed his forehead to hers and squeezed his eyes shut. At first, she thought he was speaking, whispering even. His lips were moving, but no words came out, as though he was reciting a silent prayer to whatever God he believed in. She couldn’t blame him: the movement of their hips was making her feel closer to her own God too. Closing her eyes only made her more acutely aware of the raging hum reverberating throughout her whole body.

 

The time for wonder didn’t last long, though, because he came to a stop (she prided herself on keeping her whimper firmly at the base of her throat) and gently lowered her back down on her feet. He was staring again, his jaw working back and forth in the confines of his mouth. For a fleeting moment, inadequacy washed over her, chilling her to the bone. A flush colored her cheeks and she was about to apologize for inconveniencing him. She opened her mouth to fumble through the words when he latched back onto her lips. This time, she didn’t suppress the groan that came out of her mouth. This man gave her worse whiplash than a contentious floor debate.

 

He made a valiant effort to make it up to her, and pushed her back against the wall with renewed, enthusiastic fervor. Hands traveled to the crest of her hips, cupping them intently with his palms. She latched her arms back around his neck and pressed closer into him, into the heat of his erection pressing firmly against the fabric of his expensive suit. She briefly wondered how much money it would cost to get a stain out of it. Would he have it sent out to the dry cleaner? Or would he take it himself? Would he be embarrassed? Or would you saunter up the the cashier and point-blank tell her the truth: he fucked a woman in the bathroom at the Commonwealth Coffee shop and blew her fucking mind.

 

The image she put into her own head sent a violent shudder down her spine, hit so suddenly with the want that swiftly followed the thought. She pulled away from his mouth to mirror his earlier attack on her neck, sucking and licking up his throat as far as she could reach. He pushed a knee between her legs and - without skipping a beat - she began rutting against it. His rough breath echoed in her ear, spurring her on.

 

His fingertips skimmed the hem of her trousers, almost hesitantly, seeking some kind of permission to push this boundary. She stopped her assault on his collarbones long enough to nuzzle into his nose and looked into his eyes: she nodded.

 

His movements were full of intent, but held an element of revere. Fingertips moved past the thin lining of her panties until he enveloped the whole of her ass in his two hands. When he squeezed, it was with a sigh that spoke volumes: he liked playing with her ass as much as she liked it being fondled. His hips began to move in conjunction with hers now, pressing her back into his hands, and helping pull her back into him.

 

With much effort, she found her way past his curtain of hair into the territory his ears occupied. They were larger than she thought they might be, but that just meant more to work with. She nibbled on his ear lobe before sucking it into her mouth like a woman starved. An actual growl rumbled in his chest and his hips collided with hers in such a force that she was afraid he’d damaged his own hands on the tiled wall behind them. Encouraged, Rey latched herself to the other ear, and he ground himself so hard into the curve of her hipbone that she was unable to do more than take whatever friction he gave.

 

With her lower body at his mercy, she began unbuttoning his burgundy shirt. The first few buttons were all she got before she became too impatient and snaked her hand under the fabric and onto the smooth skin of his chest and abdomen. She gasped when she felt the hardened plains of his stomach twitch under her touches. Openly mewling, she slid her other hand in, making do with the small space she had. An urge to rip open the rest of his shirt crossed her mind, but she doubted she could afford to replace it.

 

Not to be left out of the game, this impossibly large man removed his hands from her trousers and unceremoniously grabbed at her breasts. She squeaked at the onslaught, stopping her own exploration of his chest and a small wince crossed his face as he relaxed his tightened grip. He tentatively leaned down and took her mouth to his again, gently. He waited for her to sigh and deepen the kiss further before cupping her breasts again. They fit into the palm of his hand with ease and his thumbs brushed past her nipples, coaxing them up from her flesh.

 

As a reward for his gentleness, she moved to cup his erection. It was his turn to whimper into her mouth, and she greedily accepted it. She palmed him through his trousers, doing her best to work with the rhythm he’d established. When she finally built up the courage to fumble with his trouser buttons, he stopped kissing her and simply hovered his lips over hers. She pulled down the zipper and worked her hand past the band of his boxers. He tilted his head down to watch her hand now as she circled her hands around his engorged cock. Something like a whine escaped his lips and a swell of power rippled along the edges of her nerves: he was at her mercy, and she _liked_ it. She had to bite her lip to suppress a smug look on her face as she moved her hand up and down, drinking in every facial twitch and every rattled breath of his as she moved towards a reckless pace.

 

The erratic thrusts of his hips told her he was close to cumming, and she was working him towards a spectacular finish when the breath in his throat hitched. Before she knew it, his hand caught her wrist gently, but the small touch was enough to startle her out of her movements. Slowly, he moved her hand away from his erection and took several shuddering breaths.

 

His eyes darkened even further, a look of determination painted his features, and his lips captured hers fervently.

 

He slid his hands back into her trousers and slowly began to push the fabrics down. He’d gotten them both past the swell of her ass when the red flags started popping up in her head: sirens blaring, and a distinct mantra of DANGER flashing before her eyes. Quickly, she wrapped her hands around his wrists to stop his hands from proceeding further down their intended path. He stopped kissing her and hovered over her mouth, but didn’t move away. They stood there, breath mixing into a humid storm between their waiting lips. He let out a huff of air before his right arm slid out of his hold on her ass and tucked his hand into the pocket of his suit jacket. From its depths, he produced a standard condom, leaning back far enough to bring it into her line of sight. He quirked an eyebrow, in question.

 

Rey had always made it a point to listen to her feelings. She didn’t use them to blindly throw herself into rash decisions. Instead, she used them to guide her decision-making. Sometimes, a feeling would drown her senses, soaking her in the power of them. Sometimes, they would shoot through her, as fleeting of a moment as deja vu. Regardless, she would examine them carefully to best understand where in her body their chemistry lingered. On most occasions, they settled in her mind, slowly reciting the logic until she could see a decision clearly. Other times, they tucked closely into the locked corner of her heart where she’d retreat to remind herself of her own humanity. This moment for her was a turning point: This feeling. How was it not? This affirmation would change this dynamic between them one way or another. They wouldn’t be able to walk out of this bathroom and forget it. God, she wanted- no, needed it. She didn’t care how, just that it happen sooner than later.

 

Setting her jaw, she nodded firmly. His response was instantaneous, swooping back into her lips for a piercing kiss. It was a mixture of reverie, desperation, and a bit too much for her to handle in her hypersensitive state.

 

She pulled herself from the kiss and within the same breath, turned around to lean over the sink. He hesitated for a moment before following her the short distance to stand behind her, hands coming to an end at the base of her back. With white knuckles, she gripped the base of the marble, hanging her head as she focused on the feel of his hands work over her ass. He cupped one cheek in each hand and separated them, exposing her sex to his examination. He let out a low growl and Jesus, the octaves he could dip into left her keening and she pushed back into his grip.

 

She can hear him fumbling around his pockets for something when he grunts in what she can only assume is victory because one of his hands is back on her. The other is absent for only a moment before two fingers slide gently along the seam of her sex, almost in a petting motion. They’re moist, his fingers, and it takes her sluggish brain longer than necessary to realize they’re covered in lube. She sends a silent thank you to whatever God is listening: even at the best of times, her body’s natural lubricant usually isn’t enough to get through a full round of intercourse.

 

She pushes herself closer to his crotch, spreading her legs and hoping that will get him moving in the right direction. But he keeps petting her like he has all the time in the world. She glances up at the mirror to see him behind her: lips slightly parted and eyes hooded, but intent clear. His eyes drift up to hers. When their eyes lock, he stops his rhythmic motion, using two fingers to open her folds, then - slowly, but deliberately - he slid his third finger into the hollow of her vagina. The invasion automatically causes her to clamp down on his digit and it sounds like he’s choking behind her.

 

She focuses on his finger as it proceeds tentatively at first, moving in short, stunted strokes that do little more than rub. With a frustrated growl, she shoves her hips back, pushing him further into her and his other hand stills her. She can practically hear him grit his teeth as he grabs her ass cheek in his hand and pushes her back to give him space to watch what he’s doing.

 

Her impatience seems to have the desired effect, however, because he adds a second finger and curls his fingers in a way that practically levitates her from the floor as she rolls up to her toes to chase the feeling.

 

The rhythm he sets is brutal, but purposeful: a fire with an end-goal. His fingers scissor and rotate until he adds a third and Rey hisses as his blunt fingers coax her vagina into a more wanton shape for what’s to come. With a twist of his wrist, his thumb circles her clit and he bares down on the walls of her vagina. Rey’s breath began to speed up and, like a countdown, signaled the inevitable descent into her first orgasm. When it finally hit, she practically sobbed as he worked her through it: her breath hitched in her throat in erratic stutters as he continued to hit her g-spot with each come-hither of his fingers.

 

He slowly - and almost delicately - retracted his fingers from the walls of her fluttering sex and she nearly clamped down on them to keep him there. But she managed to resist the urge and settled for regaining control of her breathing again.

 

The tear of the condom packet can be heard even over the ragging of their breath, both acutely aware what comes next. The obscene squelching of the lubricant leaves her shivering as she hears it followed by him stroking himself as he covers the condom in it.

 

Finally, his hands position themselves on her hips and she hangs her head, waiting for the inevitable push. But it doesn’t come: instead, she feels him rub his penis along her folds, in a slow rhythm. She grits her teeth and looks back up at him in the mirror, ready to snap at him to get along with it already. But the look he gives her softens her resolve: questioning and slightly afraid. The vulnerability on his face has her frowning: He won’t go any further if this isn’t what she wants.

 

With confidence she didn’t know she possessed, she grabs his cock and lines herself up, shifting her hips around until she feels the telltale pop as the head of his penis penetrates her sex. The groan that drains from her mouth flows without restraint, and she flutters her eyes shut at the onslaught of nerves firing along her spine.

 

Seemingly void of any more qualms, he replaced her hand with his as hers snapped back to the porcelain in front of her. With a gentle nudge, he began his ascent and pushed into her with a delicious stretch that left Rey to grip the sink tighter with her hands.

 

She looked back at him in the mirror to see him watching the slow joining of their bodies, a look of wonder on his face. He was just big enough to straddle the line between pain and fullness, and her hips twitched in appreciation. Oh, that was good.

 

When he is fully seated, he meets her eyes in the mirror.

 

Rey had had enough talks with her girlfriends to know orgasms weren’t a guarantee during sex: Hell, some of her friends hadn’t even experienced one in their lifetime. That was not Rey’s experience: in fact, it was quite the contrary. On the occasions when she has been particularly keyed up, she can have upwards of three or more orgasms in one session. Sometimes, if she was lucky enough, the simple act of having herself fully stretched around her partner’s penis was enough to shoot her to the moon. It wasn’t something she told her lovers. Truth be told, she was a bit self-conscious about it, afraid it made her seem too eager, clingy even. So she would oftentimes hide her orgasms in a particularly enthusiastic moan, or strong set of hip thrusts.

 

But this man wasn’t like her other lovers. This thing, whatever this muted congregation they were willingly engaging in, was beyond logic and beyond the limiting confines of self-consciousness. And her body responded accordingly.

 

He started to move his hips back slowly, gauging her body’s readiness for the proceedings, but the walls of her vagina began to spasm and she threw her hand back in time to catch his hips. The hand on his hip had him in a death grip as she pushed herself back on to him, pulling him farther into her than before as she crashed into an earth-shattering climax.

 

These were her favorite kinds of orgasms: the ones that hit so quickly that she had to ride them on instinct - and her instincts rarely lead her astray.

 

In her haze, she barely recognized him shoving a hand between their bodies. Afraid he was going to pull out, she pulled him towards her harder, effectively trapping his hand.

 

Gyrating her hips around his member sent waves of unimpeded pleasure through her veins. The thought that she was, in the basest sense, simply using his body right now briefly flickered across her conscience, but she couldn’t be bothered to care.

 

As the moments passed, and the fog uncoiled itself from her brain, she became acutely aware of where every part of his body that touched hers. His forehead was pressed between her shoulder blades, breath coming out in warm gusts across her clothed back, with a hand at her sex. No, not at her sex, but the base of his own cock. She couldn’t see, but she would guess he had gripped the base of his penis in a last-ditch attempt at not coming. The thought makes her over-stimulated sex twitch again, albeit weakly in it’s fatigued state. Behind her, he hisses and bites at her suit jacket. She waits as he composes himself, catching her own breath in the aftermath of her explosive orgasm.

 

He releases his bite from her suit jacket and looks at her with shock. She doesn’t let him settle on the idea before she is sitting back again. Catching her before she’s accomplished much, he moves his hips hesitantly, hand still at the base of his cock. His movements become more confident with each thrust, and then he’s leaning up again, removing his hand from himself, hands poised on her hips.

 

Rey sighs contently as he moves into more purposeful snaps of his hips, pushing back to meet him. All the dancing around to get to this blissful moment leaves her grinning like a mad woman as she meets his gaze in the mirror in front of her. His face takes a new, determined air and he speeds up his thrusts. When her grin gets bigger, he puts more force behind his hips, as if to fuck the smile off her face. It doesn’t take long for him to meet his goal as she finds herself yelping in surprise as she loses the rhythm: he’s bringing her hips back to him at such a speed she can’t engage her muscles fast enough to not work against him. So she relaxes and gives him the floor, so to speak, as she closes her eyes to better _feel_.

 

He moves his hips in a way that has him hitting just a little higher into her vagina and she is suddenly howling before she brings her hand up to her mouth, biting it to stifle her pleasure-induced screams. He growled and focused his thrusts on that spot and she slowly began to crumble around him, the sound of his skin slapping against hers throwing her lust into overdrive.

 

Her third blissful orgasm was a hair's breadth away when he suddenly stopped. At first she thought he’d finished and she waited with bated breath. But when he didn’t move for several moments, and he remained unquestionably hard in her, she attempted to rear back to get some kind of movement going, if to at least get herself over that elusive peak.

 

He suddenly had a hand between her shoulder blades and pushes her down closer to the sink. She nearly snarls, desperate to get _some_ kind of friction, when he begins moving his hips again. It’s a slow grind, but the direct pressure he’s putting on to her g-spot is so incredible: it’s even better than his more powerful thrusts. And just like that, she’s clamping down around his cock as wave after wave of pleasure shoots through her vertebrae and reverberating through every synapse in her body.

 

If she were of sound mind, she’d have felt him take a few more erratic thrusts before stilling as he shoots his spend into the latex of the condom. But as she came-to (again), she felt him covered over her back, one arm wrapped loosely around her torso and settled on her hip as the other pushed her hair out from the nape of her neck so he could leave sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along the line of her trap.

 

She reveled in the post-coital haze for a moment before he pushed himself up and out, gripping the base of the condom before snapping it off and throwing it into the trash next to them. There was a vague movement of him pulling a paper towel from the dispenser to her right, watering it down in the sink in front of her, and bringing it back to her sex to clean her off. She winced audibly at the cold water made contact with her hypersensitive skin and he rub small circles into her sacrum with the pad of his thumb to sooth her.

 

They both pulled their perspectives pants back on, pointedly not looking at one another. She was attempting to press the most obvious wrinkles out of her pantsuit when their eyes locked. There was a pregnant silence where his jaw did that thing again, like he was thinking about saying something. But he must have decided against it, because he gave her a curt nod and left the restroom just as quickly.

 

With a shuttering sign, Rey turned back to mirror to check her makeup and hair in the mirror. The damage wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be, but not as oblivious as she had hoped. With a dash of water, she combed what she could of her hair to coax it into some semblance of normalcy. Soon, though, she gave up and gave herself one last look in the mirror before stepping out of the bathroom ready to face the rest of the day.

 

Her purse and office documents remained on the table where she’d left it to pursue… whatever that was. A few other patrons had trickled into the cafe now, littered across the available seats and in easy view of her papers. _Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid stupid_ , she berated herself as she gathered up her strictly confidential dossiers and put them into her messenger bag.

 

She had grabbed her now-empty coffee cup and was about to throw it away when she saw the writing. It was chicken-scratch, if she was going to be honest with herself, but it had a 10-digit number on it that definitely wasn’t there before. Looking around the shop, she scanned the room to see if he was still there, but she already knew the answer. So she unlocked her phone and quickly punched the number into her phone before she lost her nerve.

 

Pocketing her cell, she threw away the cup and strode out of the cafe. The winter wind caressed her face in a sobering motion as she huddled even closer into her pea-coat and into the morning light.

 


	2. Baiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so sorry this is late. I was busy studying for my NCLEX. But hey, guess what? I'm officially an RN! So the next time you have a medical emergency... maybe try 911 first. Yeah, and probably a licensed physician after that. And I don't do rashes (ew), so like, don't ask me about that. Or wounds, those are definitely off the table. And if you're throwing up, I'll probably be throwing up, so let's just skip all of that together, yeah? You know what? How about you just think about me the next time you have a stomach ache and think, "Damn, Cat would know what to do about this." Except don't ask me, because that's outside my scope of practice (sorry!). 
> 
> But on to this: Again, unbetaed and shorter than the last one, but I tried my best. So without further ado, enjoy!

******Present day:**

 

His hips snapped with increasing intensity and he pushed her further into the mattress; in his eyes was a knowing look, a warning. Rey placed her palms flat against the headboard above her, bracing for the finale that’s soon to come - he had a habit of finishing with the enthusiasm of a 4th-of-July fireworks show. They’d been at this so many times now, they’re both intimately attuned to each other’s bodies: a pluck here, a pull there, and they can make the other create the most delicious sounds.

 

One of his hands moved from clutching the bed sheets by her ribcage to her swollen clit waiting wantonly above where he pistoned into her body. The breath in her lungs hitched in her throat and he pulled from her a whine that gathered pitch until he cut off it’s protest with his ruined lips on hers. His thumb worked in a clockwise rotation, applying more force on the upward stroke, just the way she liked it.  _ God _ , she liked it.

 

Then, not for the first time that evening, he pushed her into a bone-shattering orgasm that sent her into a full-body spasm. Her back arched and he chased her hips with his. She threw her head back on the pillow and groaned so loudly, she was sure tourists eleven stories below could hear her.

 

When she came back from her out-of-body experience, he leaned up and grabbed the headboard with both hands in a mirror image of her own limbs, bracing himself above her in an almost predatory way. He stared down to where their bodies were joined ( _ again and again and again _ ) and Rey couldn’t help but follow his gaze. She felt her whole body jolt as the force behind his thrusts continued to escalate; her body still lingered in a post-orgasmic haze, too satiated to provide any real resistance. 

 

After a handful of thrusts, her eyes traveled up his body to the ripple of muscles on his abdomen contracting with the movements of his hips as his cock bottomed out in her each time. The groan of the wood under his hands in concert with the slap of his balls against her perineum created a rhythm that thrummed in sync with the blood rushing through her body. 

 

What beautiful music their bodies made.

 

A drop of sweat dripped from his face to her upper lip and she gasped in surprise and the stir of arousal it plucked in her, low and deep in her hips. 

 

The sound must have punctured through his haze, because his eyes snapped up to hers. Another drop of sweat landed on her upper lip, and she was quick to lap at it with her tongue almost outside of her own volition. Rey couldn’t say for sure what look she gave him, it was all too much, but her eyes must have told him something he was desperate to hear. His rhythm didn’t falter: instead, it seemed to become more purposeful.

 

A chorus of sensation swelled around her: the aroma of sex that saturated the air, the crude squelch of their sexes, the salt of his sweat that lingered on her tongue, the feeling of him moving so dangerously between her legs, and the look in his eyes.  _ Oh God, his eyes _ . He looked at her as if challenging her: a set of determination welded into his jaw. All the sensations layered on top of one another until it suddenly crescendoed into a thunderous end. It was so unexpected, Rey could do little more than struggle to breathe in enough air to stay conscious while the orgasm tidaled over her. 

 

He slammed his hips into hers one last time as a guttural moan barreled from his chest with such magnitude, as if it verbalizing the feeling for both of them. 

 

His body slumped onto her, but she couldn’t be bothered to push him off. Hell, she could hardly be bothered to move herself, and instead basked in their afterglow. He gave a few shallow thrusts where he was still inside of her as his lower abdomen twitched with the aftershock of his orgasm. She bit her lip to contain a whimper, both because it sent small sparks of pleasure of her spine and it was a visceral reminder of what they’d just done. 

 

When he did roll off her, it was business as usual: he moved to his side of the bed to take care of the condom and check his phone for a slew of messages that he no doubt missed during their tryst. She took a moment to take stock of her body: the new aches, reopened aches, and areas she suspected would ache in the morning. 

 

Rey pulled herself up to the edge of the bed and roller her back with a series of satisfying pops before she looked down between her legs at the mess they’d created. She cringed as the cooling fluids began to stick in ways that would not be pleasant if she didn’t take care of them soon. 

 

They always showered separately. Not that Rey didn’t like shower sex - Hell, she  _ loved _ shower sex - but it left too much opportunity for uncomfortable silence and awkwardly maneuvering before and after the act. No, shower sex was strictly off-limits. 

 

Another Rule they’d silently established. 

 

So it was with a heavy internal sigh that Rey picked up her scattered clothes from various corners of the room (apparently her panties barely made it past the living room door leading into the suite) and shuffled her way into the bathroom. 

 

When she finished, she dressed back into the clothes she’d worn for work earlier, forgoing her panties until she could get them properly washed. As she stepped back into the bedroom, Kylo leaned against the arm of the loveseat nestled into the foot of the bed they’d just occupied. The slacks he’d worn earlier hung low on his hips, unbuttoned and woefully unnecessary given he was next up for a shower. But Rey took a moment to appreciate the view, a stupid grin stretching across her face. 

 

His fingers were flying over the keyboard at an alarming speed. The light from his phone reached his face and threw his sharp features into shadows over his cheekbones. He looked a bit… dangerous. 

 

His eyes snapped up to hers at that moment and Rey scrambled to snap her jaw shut in a way that didn’t make her look like a child caught in the act. Flustered, she scrambled for her bag, which she stuffed her panties into and basically darted to the door. She did her best to flash as casual of a smile as she could over her shoulders at him before leaving. 

 

\---

 

“Jesus, why are you doing that with your face?”

 

Kylo Ren paused mid-signature he was currently adorning to the proposed agenda his secretary had placed on his desk for the senior staff meeting later that afternoon. He quirked an eyebrow up at the fiery-haired man standing in the doorway of his office: if his hair hadn’t singled him out in a crowd, the permanent look of disgust on his face certainly would have done the trick. 

 

“My face.” Kylo responded flatly.   

 

“Yes, it’s doing a… thing.” He flicked his unoccupied hand in the air as if swatting at an incessant insect. 

 

“You know, Hux, for a man who’s supposedly articulate, well-educated, and the voice of this administration, you’re being rather vague.” Kylo moved back to finish his signature before setting it aside to open another document he needed to sign. 

 

“You’re doing that-” Hux takes a step back, almost offended, “that I’m-not-completely-miserable look. It’s not very becoming of you, Ren.” 

 

Hux wasn’t wrong, per say: on the former, at least. He’d seen  _ her _ last night, and it had done wonders for his stress-levels. The national conventions had only happened the week previously, and the President had won the First Order party’s top spot on the ballot in November, but the Resistance had elected… well, it was going to be a rough campaign. 

 

He’d thoroughly fucked her against the door of the suite - too keyed up to make it much further -  before he could take his time with her later in the bedroom. The memories flashed through him, and the shiver that ran down his spine almost showed before he steeled his frame.

 

Kylo shakes his head, but makes no further effort to continue the conversation as Hux begrudgingly sits in one of the gold-embossed, leather-clad chairs positioned at an almost impersonal distance from Kylo’s desk. Three feet of cherry oak and an equal amount of floor space now separated the two men. 

 

Hux took a drink from his steaming cup of coffee and stared at Kylo with his nose turned slightly up while managing to give an air of looking down at him in the same moment. Kylo ignored him as he continued to look over the briefing in front of him. 

 

It was a Mexican standoff: who would cave and bark at the other first. Once in a full moon, Kylo would come out on top. 

 

But today was not a full moon. 

 

“What do you want?” Kylo finally snapped and gave the smaller man his full attention.

 

Hux’s look of disgust twitched into a small smirk. He seemed to take great pride and riling Kylo up. 

 

Hux was insufferable. 

 

“So.” Hux began, sitting straight up in his chair as if Kylo already knew what he was talking about. Kylo blinked at him a few times, clearly waiting for a continuation of that sentence. 

 

Kylo knew this game: the one where Hux attempted to command a room with the simplest of looks. He’d give off an air that he was offering those listening the sweetest nectar they desired. In reality, his words often fed them poison, a rhetoric that would seep its way into their newsreels, leech at the minds of the populus, and put them right where he wanted them. It’s a skill that got Hux to where he is in life: got the administration where it is now in the White House. Kylo wouldn’t call what he feels respect, but it’s an asset he likes to keep within his reach, but well out of its realm of influence. 

 

“Did you suffer a stroke, Hux? Your face does look a bit droopy on the left-”

 

“Are you sure you can handle the rest of this campaign?” Hux asked suddenly, effectively cutting off the barb. 

 

Kylo sat back in his chair cautiously, stitching a mask of indifference on to his face one eye-twitch at a time. He knew this was going to come up - even though the number of people who knew of his… conflict of interest could be counted on one hand, secrets ran long and deep in D.C., and loyalty was cheap with the right backer. 

 

But not for Kylo. His came with a heavy toll, one that left him indebted to Snoke beyond monetary value and could only be repaid in unwavering loyalty. 

 

“Of course I can.” Kylo said with as little malice as his temper would allow. 

 

Hux raised an eyebrow at him, unconvinced. 

 

“You know, anyone who  _ knew _ would understand if you might feel… compromised-”

 

Kylo stood abruptly. “I don’t have time for this, Hux.” He moved around his desk towards the office door leading out to the rest of the staff.

 

“-given your  _ relation _ to the Resistance’s Presidential candidate-”

 

“If you want to speak to me again, please make an appointment with my secretary,” Kylo gestured with an arm towards the man seating just outside the office.

 

“-and the fact that she’s your mo-”

 

The door slammed shut and Kylo was pulling Hux up to throw him against it faster than the other man had time to react. His hand wrapped around the smaller man’s throat, lifting him from the floor just enough to force Hux to roll onto the balls of his feet to keep Kylo from cutting off significant air supply. 

 

“Don’t-” Kylo emphasized by slamming his fist into the door next to Hux’s head, which was swiftly accompanied by a telltale crack, “even  _ think _ about saying those words out loud. Ever. Again.”

 

A small gurgling sound escaped Hux’s lips, despite - what appeared to be - a great effort on his part. 

 

Kylo spoke through gritted teeth, “I’ll see you at 1400 for the senior staff meeting.”

 

He pulled Hux back from the door and opened it enough to allow Kylo to throw him out by the throat. Kylo slammed the door shut again, and he could hear Hux yell indignantly, “Get back to work before I tear your eyes from you heads!” 

 

An unsteady breath escaped Kylo’s lips and he realized he was visibly trembling. He turned and leaned his weight against the back of the chair he had just violently pulled Hux from, closing his eyes and focusing on controlling his breathing. 

 

Once composed, Kylo walked around his desk and sat back down into this chair. He took a moment to clench and unclench his fist, testing the functionality of his hand before returning to the memo on his desk. Only the sound of pen on paper echoed throughout the room as he made quick edits. 

 

No one came to check on Kylo the rest of the morning. 

 

\---

 

The make-up artist took one look at Rey and just sighed. 

 

That was… not a great sign. But it couldn’t be helped, she supposed. No doubt, he saw right through the hastily-applied concealer currently taking up real estate on half of her neck and a majority of her collarbone. Her alarm had gone off three times that morning before her sleep-addled mind registered the mistake. The resulting adrenaline rush got her dressed, caffeinated (home-brew coffee had to do), and out the door in record time. However, apparently it wasn’t enough of a miracle to spare her from the knowing gaze of the irritated cosmetologist in front of her.

 

He gently grasped her chin and tilted her face from side to side.

 

Another sigh. 

 

This disappointment went on for the rest of her appointment with him. He’d contour along her neck: sigh. Blend around her jaw line: sigh. But what he lacked in subtly, he made up for in efficiency and talent. Before Rey knew it, he was turning her around in her chair to help her to her feet so she could be whisked off to- was is wardrobe or hair next? They’d given her an itinerary at some point this morning…

 

“What did you do to poor Robbie?” 

 

Rey jumped nearly out of her skin as her dark-skinned friend seemingly came out of nowhere. He was shifting his eyes between the make-up artist and her. Robbie was organizing his supplies again and shaking his head

 

“Jesus Christ, Finn. You can’t just sneak up on people like that. You’ll give them a coronary.”

 

Finn raised his eyebrows up at her pointedly. 

 

“It’s not sneaking up when I was standing behind you and you just didn’t hear me say your time seven times.” 

 

Rey pursed her lips and pivoted on her heels, eager to turn her face away from his. Finn was fluent in her facial expressions, particularly when she was lying. 

 

“Seriously, I haven’t seen him that put-out since-” If Rey hadn’t been walking away from him as if her dignity depended on it - which it most definitely did at this moment - she may have seen a literal light bulb go off above Finn’s head. 

 

“Oh no you don’t, Rey-” He quickly caught up and matched her pace. “You didn’t see-” he takes a quick look around make sure no one is paying them any attention before whispering harshly, “ _ him _ last night, did you?”

 

Rey took a sharp, evasive right and Finn was forced to scoot around a few sound-tech guys with bulky equipment. 

 

The fifth: she’d plead the fifth.

 

Her silence was all he needed for confirmation. 

 

“Rey, I know you’re-”

 

Finn stops himself when he sees the pleading look she’s giving him. He sighs and gently pulls her by the arm into the nearest empty office: Poe Dameron’s. He was probably talking to the director of the video Rey was  _ supposed _ to be getting ready for. 

 

When the door closes gently behind him, Finn gave a patient sigh. Rey attempted to tamp down her irritation as she prepared herself to hear the same speech she’d heard every time he caught wind of their assignations. 

 

“Peanut, you have to understand why I’m worried about you.”

 

She starts counting his argument points with her fingers, “I don’t even know the man, he could be riddled with STIs, what kind of man hooks up with a woman at 6 o’clock in the morning  _ on a Monday _ at a coffee shop-” Finn throws his hands up in the air in exasperation, “-he hasn’t tried to  _ date me _ , and the most crucial:  _ what if he’s a conservative _ .” 

 

Finn doesn’t even bother to look chagrined. 

 

Despite her best efforts, tenderness blooms in a small corner of her heart. 

 

“You’re not wrong, Finn. The difference is I’ve already thought about all of those things. And honestly, what he and I have going is perfect: no strings, just good old-fashioned, stress-relieving fucking.” Finn balks, taking half-a-step away from her. “And not all of us can afford to be as romantic as you.”

 

Her gaze falls just past his arm to desk behind him. A picture of Finn and Poe is propped in a frame: hands clasped, goofy grins spreading their faces as they run back down the aisle together through the rain of bubbles blown over them by the guests, her own self among them. 

 

It’s a single moment, among millions of others the two have shared. And yet, that single moment contains more unconditional, unwavering love than Rey has ever experienced in her whole life. 

 

The reality of the thought pulls the air from her chest.

 

“Hey.” Finn whispers, fingers brushing her shoulder. She snaps her gaze back to his, blinking. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up again.”

 

Rey takes a deep breath through her nose. 

 

“I won’t do it again, I promise. OK?” He grasps her hand in his. 

 

She releases her breath shakily, “Thank you.”

 

Rey mentally shakes herself and gives his hand a squeeze before releasing it to flip through the small script in front of her. Finn opens the door and steps aside for her to walk through. Rey speaks over her shoulder at him.

 

“Now, I’m going to need you to stand behind the camera while I do my little schpeel,” she proclaims as she heads out of the office, towards the cramped meeting room where the hair and makeup people are inevitably waiting for her. “I still can’t believe I have to do this. When I became Field Director, I wanted to talk to the _people_ , not a freaking camera.” 

 

“Yeah, well, welcome to Senator Organa’s Presidential campaign.”

 

The door shut with a definitive click.

**Author's Note:**

> There may or not be concerns because there is not VERBAL consent in this, so if that is a problem with you, maybe steer clear. If you have any questions about specifics, please send me a message on my tumblr at cataclyzmic.tumblr.com: I'd be happy to answer any concerns! 
> 
> I have a kind-of plan to continue this into a more fleshed-out story, but it honestly depends on how life goes and if there is any interest. We'll have to see where my ADD brain decides to lead me. 
> 
> Also, 10 points to Gryffindor for whomever can spot the Shakespeare reference in here. And no, the "Rose" in this is not the Kelly Marie Tran-Rose. ;) 
> 
> Thanks to all those who read, and I hope you enjoyed it!


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